


The Weight of Gold

by barrelrider



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of gold, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Grand Prix, Viktor is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barrelrider/pseuds/barrelrider
Summary: Yuri's big win at the Grand Prix final poses questions about the future that he hadn't thought to ask before. And Viktor doesn't seem interested in answering them.





	1. Weight

The gold medal nestled around Yuri’s neck sits heavy on his chest. It doesn’t feel real. The last hours of competition, the last weeks of practice, the last _year_ simply don’t seem tangible until his medal rises and falls with every breath. It’s a nearly comforting pressure and it grounds him; like a weight holding him to earth, keeping him from floating away into space.

It’s a reminder of his entire skating career: every fall, every over-rotation, every blister and bandage, every morning run, every warm-up, every skipped heartbeat when he landed a quad. It’s a culmination, a climax, and a conclusion. It’s everything he had ever hoped for and never thought he could actually get.

In that moment when he heard he won and in the moments after - on the podium and walking down the hall and smiling anxiously for the cameras wishing they would all stop asking so many questions because _I just won gold in the Grand Prix oh God what am I going to do now_ \- it’s the most important piece of gold he has ever had.

Cold winds whip around him as he stands curb side and waits for a cab. Viktor is a few feet away and all but doing jumping jacks to get a cabbie’s attention. Yuri, thankful for Viktor’s winter coat, pulls it closer and regrets having waltzed out of the Grand Prix stadium without changing first. Given the night’s victory, he thinks it can be forgiven.

He buries his bright red nose in the coat and closes his eyes as Viktor’s cologne makes his heart race. The air is colder outside than it was on the ice. His ring feels cool on his skin.

Chocolate eyes open to peer at his hand nestled close to his face as he holds the coat lapels against the wind. The gold ring stands out, shiny and brilliant, against Barcelona’s backdrop.

“Yuri,” Viktor’s voice calls. He gazes up and sees his coach waiting with a cab door open; their chariot to the banquet. He’s already set up their suits on hangers in the cab. Viktor’s smile is as warm and welcoming as the toasty cab that awaits them.

“Right,” Yuri replies, trotting over. He slides inside the car but not before glancing up at the matching ring on Viktor’s hand.

He wonders if Viktor’s ring feels heavy, too.

-

“You’re distracted,” Viktor deduces as he buttons Yuri’s shirt.

A blush sets across Yuri’s cheeks. “Your hands are on me, of course I’m distracted,” he mumbles. By the way Viktor smiles at him and teases his fingers on Yuri’s bare chest, it didn’t go unheard, and Yuri only blushes harder.

Humming pleasantly, Viktor resumes his task. “Not by me,” he amends. “You’re thinking too much.”

The banquet has begun without them. They took a much-needed reprieve in their hotel room to not only get ready for the event but to decompress from the constant stream of people and the glare of lights and cameras. Seven floor below, the other Grand Prix finalists, medalists or not, are mingling and preparing for a fun night.

All Yuri can think about is gold, and not the one that has been around his neck.

“I just - I don’t want a repeat of last year,” Yuri lies through his teeth in reference to… well. Viktor knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“Do you mean drinking over a gallon of champagne, challenging a teenager to a dance-off, showing off your gift for pole dancing, or dry-humping me?” Viktor asks cheerfully.

“A-all of the above!” Yuri barely manages to squeak.

Viktor retrieves Yuri’s silky teal tie and chuckles, smoothing the garment on his hand as if considering its other possible uses. It makes Yuri shift nervously. “Don’t worry,” Viktor finally says, stepping forward and looping the tie around Yuri’s neck, “I’ll protect you from yourself, my little katsudon.”

Watching Viktor’s nimble fingers work their magic on his tie, Yuri sighs quietly. His eyes track to the glistening band in front of his face. It’s as if Viktor is flaunting it in his face: _You won gold, didn’t you? Great! Let’s make this engagement ring a wedding ring!_

His coach. His _fiance_.

It isn’t like Yuri doesn’t want that. In fact, it was part of the reason he won. The idea of continuing to build a life with Viktor spurred him to his best performances. The desire to woo the audience one last time, and the urge to feel _proud_ of his own growth, was his other motivation. But he isn’t going to be marrying the audience of himself. He’ll be marrying Viktor after knowing him formally for less than a year.

They’d never even talked about marriage. He had never even spoken about it with his own _parents_ , who happily assumed he would never marry, let alone have a partner he wanted to marry. He thought much the same. And now…

Now, the man he had watched and admired his entire time was going to be his husband.

“Huh? Yuri?” Viktor asks, sounding confused but not terribly concerned. “Is that too tight?”

“Hmm?” Yuri blinks out of his stupor and looks up at Viktor, then at his hands - hands he’s holding almost in protest to Viktor touching him. When did that happen? “S-sorry,” Yuri chokes, releasing his wrists and fidgeting with his tie to test its tightness. “No, no, this is perfect, nice and snug, the, um-”

His hands are taken by Viktor’s, and Yuri stops his string of poor excuses. Viktor’s cerulean gaze is almost unsettling with how it pierces through him. Yuri dares to look back until he sighs, relenting, and slots his fingers in the spaces between Viktor’s.

 “Viktor,” he mumbles shyly, glancing at their right hands for a brief second before blinking his gaze to the ground. “I… now that I’ve - _we’ve_ \- won gold,” the sentence makes them both smile for a moment, “um, I want to know… what are we going to do now?”

With all the courage he can muster, he lifts his gaze to meet Viktor’s, and they stay like that, hand-in-hand, with two different types of desperation in their eyes, for a long few moments of silence that they both love and dread.

It’s broken when Viktor smiles affectionately with a patient huff. He moves his right hand out of Yuri’s and reaches to touch his face. “Yuri,” he murmurs gently, inching just a fraction closer.

Yuri’s lip quivers; his body trembles. “Vicchan,” he utters in return, his heart pounding in his chest.

“What we’re going to do,” Viktor explains calmly, “is go downstairs, find our friends, and-”

Yuri’s mind flies into panic mode. _Oh God, what if he wants to get married here? What if there’s a wedding planned below? I don’t have a speech! I don’t have a best man! I think you need one for a wedding. I could ask Phichit, but I think I would want him to be the photographer instead_ \--

“-have a fun night,” Viktor says.

Yuri blinks, dazed, and tries to hamper down the disappointing flooding to his chest. “Don’t worry about what happened last year!” Viktor continues. “This year is different. Better. _You’re_ better. Still cute, though, and I won’t complain if you do somehow lose your shirt again.” He punctuates the compliment with a playful wink that almost makes Yuri forgive just how dense he can be. That forgiveness follows in full when Viktor strokes his cheek, and Yuri can’t help but lean into that damning touch that makes him feel entirely fragile.

“Okay?” Viktor asks, tilting his head and seeking a confirmation with a friendly, loving smile.

 _No, it isn’t okay,_ Yuri thinks, his gaze wandering down for just a moment. _What about us? What are we_ **_doing_ ** _, Viktor? Tell me. Please._

“Yeah,” Yuri replies, offering a smile in return. “Let’s go.”

Viktor’s eyes brighten. His hand snakes to the back of Yuri’s head and he draws him closer for a soft and chaste kiss that Yuri knows promises more later on when they’re alone again. It’s heart-pounding and nearly enough to make him forget about their impending marriage, their lack of communication around it, and just how _thick_ Viktor can be about these things.

But, this is Viktor’s night as much as it is his. Yuri can’t take that away from him.

He won’t take that away.

-

It’s as if everyone is in on some joke that Yuri is the punchline to.

As often as he’s asked about his gold medal, he’s asked about his and Viktor’s upcoming marriage. Yuri tries to stammer an answer as best he can until he remembers that he doesn’t have one.

And Viktor doesn’t seem to care.

“Where do you want to get married, Yuri?” Phichit asks over some champagne (his third glass, Yuri’s second).

“I, um, we haven’t - I’m not really sure if we - well, the thing is,” is Yuri’s response before Phichit is summoned by JJ to take a picture.

“Viktor! Yuri!” Christophe (who is eight glasses in and has abandoned his shirt) calls and slings his arms around the two of them. “You’re getting married on an ice rink, yeah? You should get married on an ice rink. Imagine skating towards the altar, on an ice rink!”

“I don’t know about that,” Yuri tries to reply. “We don’t really…”

“How many times can you say ‘ice rink’ in one question?” Viktor asks in amusement.

“Hey, Pig,” Yurio scowls, “I don’t want to go to your stupid wedding, but if I don’t get an invite, I’m ramming my skate so far up your-”

“ _Yuri Plisetsky_ ,” Lilia shouts from across the venue, “don’t use such violent terms!”

“Um,” Yuri helplessly mumbles, both out of fear of Lilia and out of excuses.

“Hey, Yurio,” Viktor chimes, “come take a selfie with me and Yuri!”

The picture turns out fine. The three skaters are all smiles - or as much of one as Yurio can probably ever manage - and seem to be having the night of their lives.

Later, when Yuri goes to the bathroom for a moment of quiet, he checks Viktor’s Instagram and sees the picture. He immediately identifies his own wedding ring where his hand rests on Viktor’s shoulder in the picture. He also sees the sadness in his own eyes.

He blames the champagne for nearly making him cry in a bathroom stall again.

-

No one is sure how or when, exactly, but someone gets ahold of the banquet’s music playlist and incorporates program songs in the line-up. For every skater’s program song, they dominate the dancefloor with back-up performances by the other skaters. Yuri declines to join. Viktor jumps on the opportunity.

When “Yuri on ICE” begins to play, the sea of people seems to part and all eyes settle on Yuri. He turns away from the table he had been clinging to and chokes on the small sandwich he has stuffed in his mouth. He swallows it and smiles nervously at the crowd, who watch him in anticipation.

“I - this isn’t really a song I can dance to,” he meekly informs them.

Protests from his friends arise: “You’ve danced to this before, just on ice!” “Just do your program and have fun with it!” “That’s not what you said last year…”

Then, the one voice that mattered: “It’s not a song you can dance to _alone_.”

Viktor steps into Yuri’s space and offers his hand with a wink. Yuri blushes pink at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, which only climb into a crescendo as he accepts the outstretched hand. Viktor leads him to the mocked-up dance floor and puts his hand on the small of Yuri’s back, pulling him closer.  Yuri is relieved that Viktor will be the lead; he doesn’t think he could lead them at the moment.

Nor does he want to. Being held and led by Viktor as they dance to their love song eases the night’s anxieties and the weight of his ring significantly. The alcohol in his system helps as well. He tips his head on Viktor’s chest and listens to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, which seems to quicken as Yuri moves closer.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Viktor asks in a private tone.

“Mhm,” is all Yuri can say in reply because yes, he actually is having a good time, as frightening as the future may seem and as avoidant as Viktor may seem about addressing it.

“Are you happy?” he asks, and Yuri swears he hears a faint tone of uncertainty in his voice - or maybe it’s just his imagination 

Yuri lifts his gaze and nods, sure as day, to his fiance. “I have gold and I have you,” he replies honestly. “That’s enough for me.”

_I just hope I’ll still have you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after._

Viktor’s smile, he notices, is slightly watery. It makes Yuri’s much the same. As their dance ends with the final piano notes, the crowd all but breaks into an uproar, but Yuri doesn’t hear much of it. He simply melts into Viktor’s embrace and quietly mumbles three shy words against his chest.

- 

The days begin to blur as the New Year dawns closer and closer. The noise of the last few weeks softens and life returns to normal.

 _As normal as it can be_ , Yuri supposes, because now he’s a gold medalist, his season is over, and he is unofficially retired from the sport, and this is the first time he has been with Viktor like this.

 _So, not normal at all, then_ , he broods, sinking further into the onsen.

They still haven’t talked about the future. The word ‘marriage’ hasn’t been said or likely even thought by Viktor, and Yuri has all but given up trying to find ways to mention it. Viktor hasn’t gotten it once.

Yuri wraps his arms around his legs under the water. He rests his chin on his knees and closes his eyes.

Did Viktor forget his own words? Did he not expect Yuri to win, so now the thought of marriage is frightening him? Did he ever want to get married? Was it a sick joke?

“Stop, _stop_ ,” Yuri whispers to himself, covering his ears as if it will effectively block out his anxious thoughts. _Viktor loves you. Viktor loves you. He chose to be here and he wants to stay. He’s said it several times. He promised…_

The door to the outside onsen opens and Yuri jolts slightly. He relaxes when he sees it’s Viktor, but frowns slightly when he sees he’s fully dressed - shoes and all. “Viktor,” Yuri greets with a tiny, if not unsure smile. He swims over to his fiance, who smiles and kneels by the onsen. Viktor’s hand musses Yuri’s wet hair; the affection stirs warmth and joy in Yuri’s stomach.

Yuri’s pleasant smile fades slightly when he sees what appears to be a suitcase by Viktor’s legs. “Luggage?” he mumbles, confused.

“For today?” Viktor offers, trying to jog Yuri’s memory. Yuri only stares up at him. Viktor mumbles a curse in Russian under his breath and runs his fingers through his fringe. “Did I forget to tell you?”

 _Oh no._ Something twists in Yuri’s stomach. “Tell me what?” he asks quietly. _No, please, no…_

Viktor, looking Yuri dead in the eyes, quietly replies, “I’m going back to Russia.”

Blood swirls around in Yuri’s ears. His heart stammers in his chest as if it has forgotten how to beat. To his great surprise, he doesn’t feel his expression change much, although his vision has begun to spin. “Oh?” he asks. His voice is weak; it betrays his poker face.

A little chuckle escapes Viktor. “I thought that was obvious?” he asks with a sweet smile. “I know the timing is a little unfortunate with the New Year, but I have to leave sooner or later.”

_Have to leave. Have to._

“Oh,” Yuri replies, nodding along in dumb agreement. _Why am I nodding? Why can’t I say anything else?_

Silence settles between them. Viktor watches Yuri quietly and Yuri thinks he’s staring right through him. At long last, Viktor checks his watch and sighs, standing from his position. Yuri keeps his eyes on him the entire time but makes no move to leave the warm water.

“I need to head out or I’ll miss my flight,” Viktor huffs. “You know what they say - get to the airport two hours ahead.”

“Yeah,” Yuri agrees. _Get out of the water._

“So,” Viktor says.

“Hmm,” Yuri hums. _Get out of the water! Stop him! **Do** _ _something_ _!_

A tiny smile comes to Viktor’s face. “Ah - you want to stay in the onsen? I don’t blame you, it’s pretty cold up here.”

“Yes,” Yuri replies. _Get out, get out, get out! Move, legs, move!_

Grabbing his luggage, Viktor smiles at Yuri and winks at him; the move makes Yuri want to scream. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again someday,” he teases in a playful tone that feels like knives in Yuri’s soul. This time, he can’t find the words to say, and instead he’s left clinging to the rocky edge of the onsen watching his fiance walk out of his family home and out of his life.

All Yuri can do as the door swings shut behind Viktor is think about where it went wrong.


	2. Void

To Yuri, the walk to his room feels like an eternity.

His legs are heavy and useless. His mind draws blanks at corners and turns he has known his whole life. His vision tunnels and flurs on and off and he can’t hear a word anyone passing him says. Even his sister’s voice falls on ears deafened to the sound of his own heartbeat.

Viktor is gone.  _ Viktor is gone. _

“Yuri?” his mother calls, although her voice sounds miles and miles away. Somehow, he still turns towards the source and sees her trotting over to him. “Can you help out in the kitchen? The dishwasher broke so we have to do everything by hand until it’s fixed, and that won’t be until Monday at the earliest! How inconvenient!”

Yuri’s thousand yard stare looks away from his rambling mother and to the entrance to the onsen. Outside, he can see the pavement leading down to Hasetsu and beyond. Viktor took that road just a few moments ago. Maybe if he ran fast enough…

“Yuri?”

Looking away from the road that stole Viktor from him, Yuri finds Hiroko looking at him with concern. “Are you all right?” she asks, touching his arm gently. “How about some katsudon? Would that cheer you up? What’s wrong?”

Yuri takes his mother’s hand and kindly nudges it away from him. He lets it go and shakes his head, not meeting her gaze. “I’m fine” he replies. “Don’t worry.” His voice is steadier than he expected it to be.

Before she can say anything, he turns away and begins to head towards the bedrooms. “I’ll help later tonight,” he lies. He knows he won’t leave his room, and his mother knows it, too. Not that it can be helped. Yuri doubts that anything can help this - not even katsudon. Not even skating.

Definitely not skating.

He begins to turn right to head towards his room, but stops in his tracks and turns left down the hall instead. In his mind’s eye, he can see Makkachin running to and from Viktor’s old room, his nails clicking on the wood floor to sound the alarm. He can hear Viktor’s laughter as Makkachin jumps on him and licks his face. He can hear the pleasantness in his voice when Yuri sneaks into his room in the middle of the night and they share a large bed, curled up together, both feeling warm and safe with the other.

The room is unoccupied except for Viktor’s belongings, which Yuri assumes he abandoned there. You can only take so much on a plane, anyway. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t hoped to find Viktor in bed with a book; hadn’t hoped to see him look up in surprise and say in a pleased, affectionate tone, “ _ Come to join me, my Yuri? _ ”

Yuri climbs onto the full bed, which still has lingering warmth from the night before. He nestles into the sheets on the side he used to occupy and looks into the empty space where Viktor should be. He slides his right hand out as if trying to touch something invisible. He gets only air and lets his hand drop to the mattress.

Yuri’s eyes settle on the golden ring on his finger which shines in the darkness.

A choking sound escapes Yuri before he knows it’s coming. His hands fly to his mouth to silence himself. A small sob follows. In one swift movement, Yuri flings his glasses aside and buries his face in Viktor’s pillow. The scent of cologne and clean, silvery-blond hair fills his nostrils. His body shivers from a cold he can’t describe. It’s deep in his bones. Loneliness.

He sobs from somewhere deep within his soul. It lasts two hours. A thousand thoughts swirl in Yuri’s mind -  _ he never wanted to marry you, he never wanted to stay, he wanted you to win so he could go home, he never loved you, he never loved you, he never loved you _ \- but one stands out, and it’s that one thought that he cries out until his voice is hoarse.

_ Come back. _

-

No one is surprised when they don’t see Yuri for four days.

There are glimpses of him when he comes out of Viktor’s room to shower and get food (not nearly what he usually eats when he’s depressed, oh no; he isn’t eating enough now), but otherwise it’s almost as if he’s off at a competition with his coach. His family is used to the silence that follows his absences. The silence when he is still there, though, has an indescribable sound. It’s deafening.

Yuri spends his days browsing the internet on his phone, looking at the articles written about him, about Viktor, and about the two of them. He doesn’t tell the other skaters, not even Phichit. He doesn’t want them to know. He doesn’t want them to lash out at Viktor. He can name a few who would. He doesn’t want to risk that.

If this is what makes Viktor happy, then Yuri knows he can’t stand in the way of that. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for it.

It doesn’t stop Yuri from sniffling and mumbling into his pillow, “Viktor no  _ baka _ .”

-

When he finally leaves his room, his mother gives him a hug and his father pats him on the back. They watch their son jog out towards Hasetsu, and they don’t need to guess where he’s going.

-

When Takeshi sees Yuri enter the Ice Castle, he all but jumps through the desk station window (a double Salchow, if he had been on skates) and crushes Yuri in an embrace. Yuri feels his spine crack in a few spots and has to wheeze out that he can’t breathe for Takeshi to release him.

“Sorry,” his old friend replies with a laugh, “I haven’t seen you since you won the Grand Prix, and that was just for a second. It’s been a few weeks! You’re a celeb now!” He raises a brow as he looks Yuri up and down, and for a moment he seems disappointed. “Huh, I half expected Viktor to be making you march around with your medal out.”

Viktor’s name makes Yuri tense up. He stays silent, hardly breathing, and looks off and to the side.

Takeshi frowns at the sudden change in the air and folds his arms. “All right,” he utters, “what’s going on?”

Something in Takeshi’s tone of voice makes Yuri nearly fold, but he stays silent in his grieving and instead looks in the direction of the locker room. “Can I go in?” he asks.

Takeshi grunts and puts his hands in his pockets. “Rink is reserved all day for the biggest,  _ loudest _ birthday party I’ve ever seen,” he sighs. “Yuko’s on duty right now. You can try back tomorrow, or-”

Before Takeshi can blink, Yuri is heading to the door without a goodbye. Takeshi marches in front of Yuri and barricades him inside. The scowl he wears is full of worry. “All right, you’ve got me seriously concerned now. What’s going on with you? Did something happen between you and Viktor?” Again, Yuri tenses, but this time Takeshi sees it. Something like a fire sparks in his eyes. “If he broke things off with you, so help me-”

“Don’t-!” Yuri begins to protest, but his voice breaks, Before either of them can start to wonder why, tears spill down Yuri’s cheeks. Crying in front of Yuko is bad enough; crying in front of Takeshi is even worse. He quickly covers his face, smushing his glasses and smudging them with fingerprints and tears. “Sorry,” he breathes, his entire body shaking, “but please, don’t… don’t threaten him. He’s doing what’s right for him-”

“But what about what’s right for you, huh?!” Takeshi almost shouts. Yuri flinches with the tone of it and nearly cowers down. Takeshi takes a slow breath, clearly needing to reel in his sudden anger. He puts an arm gruffly around Yuri’s shoulders and guides him to a nearby bench, where they both sit. He doesn’t try to embrace Yuri, who is still hiding his face, but he keeps a hand on his shoulder as they both cool down from their respective outbursts.

Takeshi finally asks the question Yuri has been dreading. “What happened?”

If Takeshi had been Yuko, perhaps Yuri wouldn’t have continued to cry. She always understood his fragile heart; he never had to be embarrassed about it. He can focus when he isn’t worried. But with Takeshi, he still felt a strange sense of shame when he let himself be vulnerable or let on that he was. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, he spares no detail - it comes out quite naturally, all his worry about the marriage and Viktor never attending to it once - but keeps his face hidden the entire time. When his voice breaks, he pauses, catches his breath for a moment, and pushes forward.

Just like skating, really.

Takeshi sighs slowly when it all comes to a head. He takes his hand back, puts both of them on his knees, and looks at the ceiling. “Anyone else know?”

“Just my parents and sister,” Yuri mumbles. “I told them a few nights ago.”

“Any of the other skaters?”

“No. I don’t want them to… I just don’t want them to know.”

Takeshi stands abruptly. It makes Yuri jump slightly. He wipes his eyes behind his glasses and watches Takeshi approach the occupied rink. Yuri is quick to jump up and grab Takeshi by the sleeve. “Don’t,” he protests quietly, knowing Takeshi’s intentions.

“These kids have been here for three hours already; I think they can take a break,” Takeshi argues, but Yuri tugs his sleeve to keep him there.

“No,” Yuri insists, albeit with an unsteady voice. “I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s skating if it means I’m able able to. I’ll be fine waiting. I - I don’t even know if I  _ could _ skate again.”

As he says it, his eyes look over the ice rink and the school-aged kids enjoying their time on the ice. His gaze is filled with equal parts jealousy and trepidation. It’s a silly feeling, really, because he’s just won gold at an international competition. How can he be jealous of children at a birthday party?

Sighing in concession, Takeshi pockets his hands and shrugs. He turns away from the rink and walks with Yuri to the door. “I’ll keep some morning spots open for you for a while. Come back when you’re ready, got it?”

“Yeah,” Yuri responds half-heartedly. The automatic door opens, but before he can leave Takeshi grabs his shoulder and turns him around.

“Don’t you give up skating because of him,” Takeshi insists with a serious expression. “You were a skater before him, you’ll be a skater after him.”

Yuri nods, but Takeshi can see in his eyes that the message doesn’t hit home.

_ I’m a skater because of him _ , he thinks as he walks away from his home rink.

-

Yuri begins running. He runs through town, runs past town, runs along the water and through the grass and up stairs and past shrines. If no one is around, he mimics a step sequence here and goes a jump there, and he swears he can feel his skate on his foot, feel it hit the ice, feel the roar of the crowd in his chest, and feel Viktor’s eyes bore into his body.

His third day of running, Yuri ends up at the ocean on the same beach he and Viktor once visited. He isn’t sure what brings him there, but it’s something, and it’s strong enough to keep him from leaving.

He sits in stock silence on a large piece of driftwood, staring at the waves, wondering how Viktor is doing back in Russia. Is he skating? Does he have a girlfriend now? Is Viktor even thinking of him at all?

Before he knows why, Yuri stands and walks to the water’s edge. He lets the ocean skim his shoes as they sink into the wet sand. He inhales the salty sea air and exhales. He closes his eyes and listens to the gulls as they caw above him, caught on the breeze.

_ What do you want me to be to you? _

His left hand twists the ring off of his right finger.

_ Your boyfriend, I guess. I’ll do my best. _

Yuri’s face contorts with pain as he rears one foot and his arm back and prepares to throw the ring into the ocean, never to be seen again.

But his fist trembles, and his knees shake, and he can’t let go of the ring in his palm, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He collapses in the sand on his hands and knees as if he had just skated the hardest program of his life. He stares at the fragments of shell underneath him and sniffles as tears well in his eyes.

“Help me, Viktor,” he whispers, and the hand holding his ring rises to clutch at his shirt, right above his heart. “Help me.”

As the sun begins to set, Yuri wipes the sand from his hands and clothes, puts the band back on his finger - his piece of gold, symbolic and grounding - and begins the long trek home, wishing someone with the other ring would be waiting for him.

-

The next day, Yuri is the first person at the Ice Castle. He is even there before Yuko, who opens the doors on her own (Takeshi is, apparently, out of town for a few days). They make small talk - he doesn’t bring up Viktor and neither does she, and Yuri knows Takeshi has told her - and he heads to the rink the second he is able to.

The ice - pure, clean, inviting - expands before him. He’s skated it dozens, if not hundreds of times before. It’s his  _ home _ , and yet…

Yuri trembles in his skates. He braces a hand on the barrier and breathes in the frosty air within the rink.  _ Go, _ he thinks.  _ Skate. Just move. _

His feet begin moving backwards, leaving the rink behind; as if it’s a black hole threatening to swallow him. He keeps his eyes on the ice as his back hits the door. He blindly gropes for the doorknob behind him.

The door yields to his relentless efforts, and he begins to move through it. But without the guards on his skates, the metal, slick and sharp, makes him lose his footing. His ankles wobble, nearly twisting, and he falls backwards on the ground. His back hits the metal threshold and he winces in discomfort, his teeth gritting tight. He exhales a frustrated, pained sigh, but makes no move to get up. Instead, he lays there on the floor, eyes closed, and listens for the sound of Viktor’s voice scolding him about his lack of skate guards.

Nothing. Only silence.

There’s no hand outstretched to help him up, no warm smile, no arm holding him close. He has to find a way up all on his own.

His right hand covers his eyes. He sighs softly, surprised he doesn’t feel the urge to cry. He may want to lie there for the rest of his life, but at least he doesn’t want to cry. It almost makes him smile.

-

_ The heat of the rink lights warmed Yuri’s frigid skin as he was announced as the first place gold medalist. The screams of the crowd vibrated in his chest like a war drum. Yet, he didn’t hear a word of what anyone in the stands was saying. _

_ All that mattered was that Viktor’s arms were around him, almost too tight, and the kiss he planted on Yuri’s lips sealed the reality of his victory. _

-

Yuri’s eyes open. The memory fades. His senses return to the present: to the cold ground, to the gentle throbbing in his ankles and back, to the silence all around.

Viktor isn’t there.

“Okay,” Yuri whispers, ignoring the way his lips quiver as he says it. He pushes himself up, careful not to slip, and walks to the ice.

But he doesn’t do anything but skate aimlessly. There is no step sequence. There are no jumps. There isn’t even a spread eagle. He simply skates ahead, skates backwards, skates from the side, and does a few 3-turns. Nothing is hurried about his movements and it is all without purpose.

_ But, _ Yuri thinks,  _ at least I’m trying to find it again. _

It’s about the happiest thought he has had. It’s also, annoyingly enough, something Viktor would probably have said.

The thought makes him scuff the ice in brief upset. Then, it’s back to skating, and Yuri desperately tries to filter out the memories of practicing his programs with Viktor by his side. He desperately tries to forget hearing Eros for the first time and feeling determined to keep Viktor with him. He desperately tries to forget skating to Viktor’s program; the skate that started it all.

_ This is my rink. It was mine before it was his. Before it was ours. And it can be mine again. _

He skates, but the music is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how 'bout that episode 11? haha let's all die together
> 
> I do promise a happy ending regardless of what happens in the show! You can have your happiness here! You just have to walk on really hot coals before that haha ugh


	3. Epiphany

“Makkachin! Get out of there!”

Makkachin’s tail only wags harder as Viktor scolds him and pulls his head and front paws out of the box of wall decor. The wagging ceases for a moment as his master points a strict, manicured finger at his nose, but it returns when he is given a squeak toy to distract him from the alluring chaos of moving boxes all around the flat.

Viktor sighs heavily and flops back onto the couch after carefully maneuvering through the sea of cardboard - not very hard for a figure skater, honestly. He stretches his arms and legs and gives a mighty yawn as if this has been the hardest work he’s done in years. In its own way, it is.

He pulls out his phone and frowns at the lack of texts or calls from the one person he has been dying to hear from. It’s been a week. He’s almost getting used to Yuri’s silence.

As he looks up at his familiar ceiling, he ticks off tasks he has accomplished in his mind’s eye: his lease has been broken and paid for; most of his belongings are packed up; people have been picking up his furniture - all of which he is donating - and only his sofa, a few bookshelves, and his bed remain; and he has begun researching marriage options and the naturalization process of Japanese citizenship. His plane flies out to Japan tomorrow and  _ oh _ , the thought of seeing Yuri again makes his toes curl with delight.

That is, if Yuri  _ wants _ to see him again. He seemed lukewarm to Viktor’s leaving, which only makes sense, but it was as if Yuri didn’t know what he was doing. They had discussed it late one night a few days after returning to Japan; did Yuri not remember the conversation? Viktor had to come back - after all, his rent and belongings wouldn’t take care of themselves, and he wanted to be squared away in Hasetsu before beginning the marriage talk.

_ If _ Yuri even wanted to stay in Hasetsu, anyway. Where he wanted to go, Viktor would follow.

_ If _ Yuri even wanted to be married.

_ Of course he does! _ Viktor thinks with a shake of his head. He outstretches his hand and admires the ring Yuri bought him.  _ He does. He has to. _ No - he doesn’t have to do anything. What if he doesn’t want to? What if that’s what his silence means?

“Is this what it’s like to be in Yuri’s head?” Viktor mumbles miserably. He looks to his left at a box on the ground, reaches inside, and pulls out a decorative pillow. With a long, dramatic sigh, he pushes it onto his face in a weak attempt to smother himself.

Makkachin barks in protest and Viktor waves his free hand at the dog. “Not now, Makkachin,” he utters behind the cushion.

Makkachin insists on barking, which is unusual for the dog, and it finally gets Viktor’s attention. He looks in the direction Makkachin is barking - the front door - and wonders if someone is coming to see him. “More movers?” he asks, standing from the sofa.

Three loud bangs that sound suspiciously like kicks to the door nearly make him fall over from surprise. “The door’s open?” he hollers uncertainly, beginning a slow, hesitant creep over to the threshold.

The door swings open and slams against the stopper on the wall. Viktor yelps in surprise, his balance lost, and falls amongst the boxes. Makkachin stops barking at the people he recognizes as friends and, with more grace than his gold-winning, figure-skating master, he hops over to greet Minako and Takeshi, who stand with their arms crossed, looking thoroughly displeased at the mess of a man on the ground before them.

“Viktor Nikiforov,” Minako growls, baring her teeth ferociously, “you have a  _ lot _ of nerve, you know that?”

“Minako,” Viktor greets with an uncertain grin, trying to scrape around for some confident charm to disarm her viciousness, “you’re looking lovely as ever!”

“I’m jetlagged and  _ pissed off _ ,” she snaps, and Viktor can understand why Yuri said he sometimes feared his dancing mentor.

Takeshi, sufficiently distracted by Makkachin’s request for belly rubs and attention, straightens up and clears his throat. Makkachin, disappointed by the stop in affection, returns to his squeak toy, abandoning his owner. “Viktor,” he snarls, “you’re coming with us.”

“Huh?!” Viktor squeaks, sounding surprisingly like his fiance. He holds his hands up and shakes his head. “I don’t have any idea what you’re-”

“You left Yuri behind!” Minako shouted, taking one stomp forward towards the man on the ground, who scoots back, affronted. “You broke your engagement and just  _ left  _ him, and you really thought you could get away with it, huh?!”

_ I didn’t do that, _ Viktor thinks helplessly, blinking in baffled confusion.

“You didn’t even tell him why,” she continues to accuse, “you didn’t tell anyone why!” The anger in her tone melts into something like disappointment as she says, “You just  _ left _ us.”

_ Us _ , he thinks, and for a moment considers everyone in Hasetsu who loves him, and not just for his fame. It’s an almost alien thought to think he has an extended family that misses him.

“So we’re taking you back to Hasetsu,” Takeshi punctuates the point, “the very least you can do is apologize to him.”

Viktor’s head feels like it’s been spun around on his neck three times. His hands fly to his hair and, in a dazed, helpless tone, he utters, “ _ Why _ would I do any of that to Yuri?”

“You’re the jackass here, not us,” Minako mutters, folding her arms.

“I’m being serious,” Viktor pleads, finally standing up. He looks between the two desperately - practically a pair of mother bears protecting a cub - and begs them, “I’m telling the truth. I would  _ never _ . I’m only back here so I can take care of things before moving to Hasetsu.” Takeshi and Minako exchange an unconvinced glance. “He  _ knows _ that,” Viktor insists, “we talked about it-”

Takeshi scoffs and mirrors Minako in crossing his arms. “Yuri doesn’t seem to think you did.”

Viktor opens his mouth to argue that  _ yes _ , they did, in fact, talk about it, until he remembers the gentle snoring that had been Yuri’s answer to his talking out loud about coming back to Russia. (He only remembers it now because of how how cute it had been and how soft Yuri’s cheek was when he kissed it in response.)

_ Oh. _

His expression, once steeled and confident, falls slightly. He visibly shrinks, embarrassed, and says, weak and full of latent guilt, “I… he may have been asleep when I told him?”

It’s a ridiculous enough reply to make Takeshi and Minako both halt their anger for a moment to think, in unison,  _ Viktor no baka. _

They startle from their disbelieving gawks when Viktor straightens up with a look of sheer panic and epiphany on his face. His eyes go wide and his back goes rigid. His lip trembles. They have never seen Viktor Nikiforov - confident and suave, so sure of himself - so  _ desperate _ . It’s entirely wrong. It’s world-stopping. They realize then that he’s telling the truth.

“Yuri,” Viktor rasps, reaching and grabbing Takeshi’s arms, “how is Yuri?”

Takeshi’s brows draw together. He glances uncertainly at Minako, who closes her eyes and sighs.

“Takeshi, please,” Viktor insists firmly, tendrils of panic still in his tone. “Tell me.”

“He’s… not well,” Takeshi grumbles. He watches Viktor’s expression crumble from desperation to horror as he speaks. “I don’t know that he’s even skated yet, and you know him: he skates no matter what. He was going to a few days ago, but the rink was rented out and he left before I could clear some spare for him.”

“He’s not eating much, which isn’t like him when he gets like this,” Minako adds, glancing over. “He’s usually in his room. Or, your old room, I guess. Hiroko says it takes a lot to get him to come out, and even then he doesn’t usually say anything or stay for long.” The frown she’s been wearing deepens. “He doesn’t look like himself. He doesn’t sound like himself. I’ve never seen him get this bad.”

Viktor’s hands drop from Takeshi’s arms and go to his hair. He runs his digits through his bangs and takes a deep, grounding breath. His eyes close. He fights waves of guilt, refusing to let himself drown in it, and thinks about what he has to do.

Without a word, he grabs his phone, dials Yuri’s number, and hopes for the best.

-

The bathroom light flickers off as Yuri closes the door and heads to Viktor’s room. He has all but abandoned his own except to change clothes. It no longer feels like his room. It feels foreign and uncomfortable. Yuri chooses to believe it’s because he’s gotten used to the larger bed in this room. It’s easier to accept than the obvious truth.

He walks onto the bed and plops down in the middle. He pulls his laptop closer to him and faintly smiles as he reads Phichit’s replies since he was away. Two hours behind him in Thailand, Phichit is at lunch with a few other skaters who are visiting. He’s been giving Yuri a play-by-play of that day’s outing through Skype’s chat feature.

_ i wish you were here !!! but ur probably planning ur wedding huh? ;)  _ Phichit had typed at the start of their conversation.

_ You know it, _ Yuri had replied.

_ check out pinterest, there are a lot of ideas there!! _

_ Will do. _

_ u okay? _

_ Yeah. _

And just like that, the conversation ended, and they haven’t touched it since.

Phichit still doesn’t know. None of the other skaters do. Yuri wants to keep it that way for a while longer.

In the middle of asking Phichit how Leon and Otabek are handling the Thai cuisine, Yuri sees his phone light up with a phone call. His hands freeze above the keyboard when he sees Viktor’s name and contact photo on the screen.

His heart pounds in his chest. A shaking hand reaches to touch the screen. He swipes to reject the call and stares at his screen as Viktor’s name and face fade.

_ Should probably go, _ he types to Phichit, trying to control his breathing.  _ My mom needs some help in the kitchen. _

_ talk to you later!! :p _ is the reply.

Yuri all but slams his laptop shut and shoves it away from him, as if it has burned him. He doesn’t trust himself to talk to anyone at that moment. He covers his mouth and tries to remember how to breathe. His free hand turns his phone off completely, then joins its twin.

He pulls his legs against his chest and sniffles weakly, wishing he never had to see Viktor’s name again.

-

Worry is etched on Viktor’s face as the call goes to voicemail after only a few rings. He pulls his phone away from his ear and tries again. This time, it doesn’t ring..

“He’s not answering me,” Viktor tells Takeshi and Minako. Minako takes her phone out and tries to call Yuri as well. Viktor doesn’t wait for her. He is already typing on his phone furiously.

“It’s off,” she deduces with a curse. She pockets her phone and folds her arms. “Well? What now?”

“I’m getting a plane tonight,” Viktor says as if it’s that simple. “Everything else can wait. I have to go back.”

Takeshi looks at the boxes surrounding them. They seem to have all been conglomerated in the living room, but there are still well over a dozen of them. “What about your things?” he has to ask, glancing at Viktor. “You don’t look like you’re ready to move.”

“I’ll figure that out,” Viktor replies without looking up.

“Your furniture?” Minako questions.

“Taken care of; it just needs to be picked up,” Viktor answers. His brow furrows.

“I hope your lease is taken care of, too,” Takeshi says, almost sarcastically, as if he can’t believe Viktor had this plan all along.

“I’ll figure it out!” Viktor snaps, turning around to glare at the two of them. They stay silent, mutually startled by his uncharacteristic aggression.

Viktor pays their shock no mind. He attends to his phone and confirms his ticket purchase with a huff. Two hours. He has two hours before his flight leaves, and he still has boxes to mail, an apartment to clean, and a bag to pack. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales.

He  _ was _ ready to leave - the next day. Now, he’s losing twenty hours, and it shouldn’t matter but it does, because this is the rockiest start to a new life and a new year with the man he loves. A man who thinks he’s  _ abandoned _ him.

How will Yuri ever forgive him?

Viktor peers at Takeshi and Minako with such intensity that they straighten up immediately. “I know I have no right to ask this of either of you,” he says, “but I need your help.”

A stroke of luck is on Viktor’s side; Takeshi and Minako had only bought one-way tickets (“We didn’t know how long it would take to convince you to come home,” Minako explains, “or if we would need to beat you to a pulp first”). No one, not even Yuri, knows where they are, but the two most aggressive members of Yuri’s Hasetsu family both felt like they needed to do something to make it right. Viktor admires the love they have for Yuri, and thanks them both for it.

He leaves Takeshi in charge of making sure his boxes are signed for and shipped on time; Minako is to sign for the release of the furniture to the movers. He promises to call both companies to expedite the process so the two can leave as soon as possible. He also buys them their plane tickets back home and invites them to do anything they want while in St. Petersburg, leaving Minako his credit card - which she briefly contemplates stealing for good, both for the credit line and because it has Viktor Nikiforov’s name on it.

He later finds a large bill for vodka, two restaurant tabs, and three  _ James Bond _ movies. He doesn’t question it.

With Makkachin sleeping in a carrier by his side, Viktor rushes to the airport, all but shoves his way through security lines, gets Makkachin settled safely on the purchased seat next to him, and barely sits in time for the long flight ahead.

“Don’t you know you should get to an airport two hours ahead?” an elderly woman across from Viktor asks the clearly-winded man. He doesn’t reply.

As the attendants go through their safety spiel, Viktor looks at his watch - 11:45 at night. With the duration of his flight and the time zone change, he will arrive in Japan at 11:30 tomorrow night. Not for the first time does he wish there was a nonstop flight from St. Petersburg to Fukuoka - better yet, one straight to Hasetsu. He doesn’t  _ want _ layovers in Shanghai and Tokyo. As grateful for the opportunity to sleep on uncomfortable airport chairs as he is, he would sacrifice the four and a half hours he will be stuck in airports to be with Yuri that much faster.

_ 11:45PM here… So it’s 5:45PM in Hasetsu _ , he thinks. The mental maths of timezones has gotten easier over the years with every competition and impossibly long flight. With Yuri, though, Viktor has a reason to remember time differences and flight times. Seventeen hours has always been too long. It will feel like ages now.

The plane lifts off the ground. Viktor’s stomach lurches uncomfortably as it always does on the initial takeoff. He closes his eyes and sets his wrist on the unoccupied armrest beside him. His hand feels cold.

-

Viktor stares out the window of the plane and watches the world pass below him. He listens to program songs over the years, both his and other skaters’ tracks. He tries to imagine every routine in his mind - every jump, every step sequence, every spin - but all he can picture is an enthusiastic young Yuri Katsuki, eyes wide and bright, likely in awe of every move he ever saw.

Yuri, the newcomer underdog who suffered a horrible loss just one year ago.

Yuri, who charmed Viktor hopeless at the banquet and never left his thoughts after that.

Yuri, enthusiastic but trepidatious, dancing to the program Viktor made to show the world that yes, this newcomer, this katsudon, was in fact a sensual force to be reckoned with.

Yuri, the man who proclaimed his love for Viktor on television; Yuri, whom Viktor fell for quite quickly; Yuri, who now thinks their engagement is off and probably feels entirely abandoned.

Viktor closes his eyes, leans his head back, and sighs through his nose as guilt courses through his veins. Now that he’s on his way to fixing things, he has time to wallow in the awful feeling and let it sink in.

He stares at the ceiling of the plane carrying him back to Yuri and thinks to himself,  _ I don’t know how I will ever make this up to you, my Yuri. _

Golden sunlight, dawning a new day, catches his eye.  _ I just hope you’ll give me a chance to try. _

_ - _

_ “Yuri,” Viktor called to his partner from the gift shop, “they have magnets! Let’s get some!” _

_ “Every airport has magnets,” Yuri commented with a tiny, tired smile. He was weary of timezones and airports and just wanted to be home. “You should know that; you’re an international superstar. You must travel often.” _

_ Viktor hummed in confirmation. “But, I’ve never had anyone to buy magnets for until now,” he amended with a pointed finger. “Do you think your mother would want the cityscape magnet or the one of the harbor?” _

_ When he didn’t get a response, Viktor looked up to repeat the question and saw Yuri gaping at him in disbelief. “What?” he asked, confused and concerned. “Did I say something?” _

_ “You… want to get my mother a gift?” Yuri murmured in disbelief. _

_ Smiling widely, Viktor nodded and said, as if it was the most painfully obvious thing in the world, “Of course I do! That’s what boyfriends do, right? They buy tourist souvenirs for their in-laws!” _

_ The most remarkable thing happened in that dime-a-dozen airport gift shop: Yuri smiled, bright as the sun coming up over the horizon. Viktor’s heart skipped a beat at the way the golden sunlight, pouring through the open airport windows, framed Yuri in warmth so inviting that it nearly felt blinding. _

_ “Yeah,” Yuri replies cheerfully, “I guess they do!” Pink dusted his cheeks with delight. There wasn’t a single trace of travel exhaustion on his face anymore. _

_ At six in the morning, running on no sleep and four timezones behind what they were both used to, Viktor fell for Yuri a little more. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason I chose Takeshi and Minako was because if I had to choose to fight any of Yuri's family members, the two of them would be my last picks because they would destroy me. I almost had half a mind to make Yuko go in Minako's place, but who would run the ice rink? I wouldn't trust three five year olds with a business if my life depended on it.
> 
> Unless it was a lemonade stand. Then, maybe.
> 
> Just one more chapter to go (and maybe an epilogue if I feel like it? If this hits like 3k? Hmm hmm...), and then Wednesday will be here, and, well. We'll see who makes it out alive.


	4. Retry

The first plane touches ground in Shanghai at 2:45 in the afternoon. As tempting as exploring the city is, Viktor instead takes shelter on a chair and takes a nap - after relieving Makkachin, of course, who vigilantly stands guard over his owner. This first layover is two hours and twenty minutes. His nap only lasts an hour not only due to the discomfort of the chair but the surprising anxiety settled in his stomach at the thought of seeing Yuri.

What can he say to make this better? Is there anything? What if Yuri rejects him?

“How does Yuri handle this?” Viktor mumbles to himself, shifting his hands through his hair, still trying to wake up.

 _He has you,_ he realizes.

Oh.

Viktor looks at Makkachin, who tilts his head and offers a comforting lick to Viktor’s nose. He pats his loyal companion on the head and thinks of all the people in his life - every skater, old coaches and mentors, legends who inspired him. He realizes, with a feeling heavier than any medal, that he can’t call any of them to ask for advice on this. The only one he would ever ask to help him is the one person he’s unintentionally hurt the most.

For all his fame and all his fortune, Viktor Nikiforov’s world is quite lonely without Yuri Katsuki.

“I messed up, Makkachin,” Viktor whispers, pretending his eyes don’t feel damp.

-

The flight to Tokyo is bearable. It’s less than half the time St. Petersburg to Shanghai had been. Viktor even manages to nod off for half an hour before landing. He grabs a bite to eat and even enjoys a little sake at the airport before spending most of his remaining layover time checking in with Takeshi and Minato, who have since headed to the airport themselves. It’s noon in St. Petersburg; he’s relieved that they will be leaving at a reasonable time and not red-eye like him.

He is equally pleased with the tracking numbers for his boxes and the pleasant letter of gratitude from the charity he donated his remaining belongings to. He will have to take Takeshi and MInako out for drinks regardless of how it goes with Yuri. Their help has been immeasurable.

 _Yuri is lucky to have so many people who care about him,_ Viktor ponders absently. He briefly wonders what it must be like before shaking his head of the thought.

Being jealous of his fiance right then would be inappropriate. The only thing he should feel towards Yuri, besides great waves of affection that never fade, is remorse.

-

The moment he is off the plane, Viktor is rushing to the airport entrance he has come to know so well. Hasetsu is only a half an hour’s drive from Fukuoka, and at this time of night there are plenty of cabs willing to take him that far. If he can’t find one, there’s always Uber, too. He knows his options not only from the many times he and Yuri have touched down in Fukuoka on their return trips, but also from his own sheer determination to see Yuri again.

In minutes, he has a cab willing to drive him the distance to Hasetsu. He texts Minako and Takeshi to let them know he has landed. They won’t get the message for several hours, but the effort doesn’t hurt. He needs them to know he never meant any of this to happen.

And he didn’t. He truly didn’t. Marrying Yuri was on his to-do list for the New Year, and now it may not even happen, and it’s entirely his fault, and he can’t believe he has screwed up this badly

“How does he say it?” Viktor mumbles to himself as Makkachin sleeps in his lap. “‘Viktor no baka’?”

Makkachin offers no reply.

“I think that’s it,” he replies to himself for the dog, whom he pets affectionately. “Isn’t that the truth.”

-

 _Viktor no baka really_ **_is_ ** _right,_ he thinks morosely as the cab stops him at the outskirts of Hasetsu.

“When I said ‘Hasetsu, I actually meant-” Viktor begins to argue, but the cabbie, surely tired from a long night, holds his hand out impatiently and waits for his fee. Viktor pays and watches his ride drive back to Fukuoka.

“Makkachin,” Viktor says as he watches the car fade from view, “remind me to give the next cabbie an _address_ and not a city to go to.”

Makkachin barks the affirmative.

Viktor is thankful for two things: a) that he is in good shape and b) that Hasetsu is, truly, a smaller town. He doesn’t have that far of a run to get to the Katsuki family residence. It’s square in the middle of the small town, anyway. Still, it takes him a precious thirty minutes - thirty-five if you count the times he had to stop so Makkachin would have a rest, pee on something, and/or wander off - that he would have preferred to not waste.

Mari is the first person to find a very exhausted Viktor lying on their doorstep with Makkachin sitting on top of him. She gently boots the dog off Viktor’s back and steps on his head, smushing his face into the pavement in greeting.

“Welcome back,” she greets calmly, exhaling her cigarette.

“Thank you,” Viktor replies through a mouthful of concrete.

Hiroko is less aggressive towards Viktor than he thought she would be, but the way she smiles overly-pleasantly at him still chills his blood. Thankfully, she is receptive to his story and takes it as the truth.

“You must be hungry,” she says immediately after Viktor explains his grueling and sudden flight - and the awful jetlag he hopes to not experience again for a very long while. “I can have a big bowl of ramen whipped up for you in no time.”

“Thank you,” he replies with a polite head bow, “but I need to know where Yuri is. Is he at the onsen? In his room?”

Mari is the one to respond as she drops a hot towel on a sleeping drunk’s head. “He’s at the Ice Castle,” she explains, much to Viktor’s bafflement and relief. “He’s been doing that lately. Yuko’s just given him a key. I hope one of these days he steals some cash from the register-”

“Mari!” Hiroko chides her daughter, who merely shrugs. “He should be back soon, though-” she goes to say to Viktor, who is already running back out the door. She blinks and watches him so, then a slow smile comes to her face. “It will be good to have a man like that in the family, huh?” she asks Mari.

“We’ll finally _have_ a man in the family,” she responds with a cheeky grin. Her mother’s sandal lands on her head a few moments later.

-

Makkachin, happy to be home, has already found his way to Viktor’s room. As he enters, his master’s scent is all but gone, and so is his own. In its place is Yuri’s, and Makkachin won’t complain about that. He jumps on the bed, gives it a good sniff, then settles right where Viktor’s old scent meets the new one by Yuri. He closes his eyes and trusts his master with the rest of it.

-

Viktor runs as if he hadn’t just sprinted two and a half miles into town ten minutes ago. The few cars and bikes that pass him seem shocked to see someone out running this late, but he pays them no mind.

He thinks of Yuri running this same path every morning, inspired by Viktor’s own defiant refusal to coach him until he’s lost weight. He thinks of Yuri running this same path with Viktor at his side and the fun, impromptu racing they would do.

He thinks of Yuri walking this path with Viktor at his side and the time Yuri stopped on the bridge and abruptly thanked him. He remembers embracing Yuri and lifting him and making him stammer and laugh and the quiet way he told him, “ _You have nothing to thank me for._ ”

“ _You stayed,_ ” is all Yuri said before kissing Viktor. It has been more than enough.

" _As long as you're here, I always will,_ " Viktor remembers swearing to Yuri.

He still means it.

Gritting his teeth, Viktor urges his legs to run faster, dammit. _I have to fix this,_ he tells himself. _I_ ** _will_** _fix this._

The ice rink takes less time to get to than the bathhouse did. When he gets to the doors, Viktor is pleased to see them open - they haven’t been locked for the night, then. He fist-pumps the air in brief celebration before striding into the building with as much confidence as he can muster at that moment (absolutely none).

The walk to the ice feels like an eternity, and when he gets there, he almost can’t believe what he sees.

Yuri’s movements are lifeless. He simply skates in circles and half-hearted spread eagles and 3 turns. His eyes are on the ice instead of in front of him; as if he doesn’t want to see anything ahead and he only wants to see what he already knows. His posture is poor. His hands hardly move as he skates aimless figure eights on the ice. He doesn’t look like a Grand Prix gold medalist at all, and Viktor’s heart breaks.

Feeling his lower lip tremble, Viktor bites it and keeps it still as he searches for the courage to let his presence be known. It isn’t his job to fix Yuri. It was never his job. But he’ll be damned if he lets him drown like this.

“Yuri,” he calls, wincing internally at how his voice cracks with the name.

Yuri’s skating stops naturally as he loses momentum. His back is to Viktor and his head is still downcast. Viktor can’t see the expression he wears. Maybe that’s for the best.

Viktor swallows against the sudden knot in his throat. He licks his lips and opens his mouth. “Yuri,” he says again, softer this time, “I don’t expect you to listen to a single word of what I’m about to say. But if - if you could find it in yourself to try and hear me, I would appreciate it, even if I may not deserve it.

“I’ve never coached a skater before, you know that. I learned, and I still have a lot to learn, even if our seasons are at an end. I still _want_ to learn. With you. I _want_ to keep learning with you and keep growing with you. I want to learn everything I can with your help.” Viktor has to fight the lump in his throat again before he can continue. Yuri hasn’t turned around. “I’m sure you know that learning doesn’t come without failure. Without getting things wrong. Your quads at the beginning of our training certainly say something to that.” He manages a smile that he isn’t sure Yuri mirrors. It fades.

“I’m going to get things wrong. It’s on me to admit when I do. And I got this wrong.” He doesn’t feel his hands ball into fists. He doesn’t even feel the way his nails dig into his palms. “I thought that I’d - I could have _sworn_ we talked about me going back to Russia, but we didn’t, and - you know I forget things, but that… That isn’t an excuse for - for _this_ . Because I’ve gotten this _so_ wrong.

“Yuri. _My_ Yuri.” His tone quivers with desperation. “I should have checked with you. I should have made sure you knew I was going, and that I was coming back. I always planned to. I only went back to Russia to settle a few accounts before--” Viktor’s cheeks begin to turn pink with heat. He pretends he doesn’t notice the sudden warmth spreading from his face to his ears. “Before I called Hasetsu my permanent home,” he continues, “with you. If you want to stay here. We can leave, if you want. Travel. As long as I’m with you, as long as I can call you mine, with your last name or my last name or - or both, it doesn’t matter where we call home because home is with _you_ , Yuri.”

For a moment, Viktor’s words die in his mouth. He wants to shout to Yuri, _I love you, I love you! Please see that!_ He wants to convince Yuri that it was all a misunderstanding - as if it’s Yuri’s fault for not seeing the truth when really, this time it’s on him for not communicating, for not double-checking, for not assuring Yuri.

His lips quiver again. _God_ , he’s gotten this so, so wrong.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally blurts, unable to contain the apology he hoped would come out more eloquently. “This, all of this, is my fault. I should have brought you with me. I should have called - I wanted you to call first, but I shouldn’t have played that waiting game. I should have never left you here without making sure you knew I would be back. That if I leave, for whatever reason, I will always come back.”

He takes a slow, chilled breath in and lets it out in a cloud of air. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to-” Viktor’s fists tremble. “If I’m no longer in the picture. I… would appreciate knowing what your decision is, whenever you make it. But don’t make it for my sake. Make it for yours.”

The sight of Yuri, stock-still on the ice, begins to blur. Viktor nearly starts wondering why, but he can recognize the sensation of tears as it starts. He sniffles quietly, hoping the sound doesn’t echo through the rink, and says, “But I’ll stay with you, if you’ll have me. I have nowhere else to go if you’re here.”

Not one sound breaks through the ice rink. The moon shines bright on the ice, illuminating it in a silvery-blue glow. Yuri looks like a specter on the ice. Viktor feels like a ghost on the sidelines.

Slowly, Yuri turns around to face Viktor. Viktor straightens up when he sees Yuri’s expression: tear-streaked, touched, lost and found all at once. He sniffles loudly. More tears fall, staining the ice. Viktor is trying his best to hold back his own emotions, but the sight of Yuri finally facing him is nearly enough to make him come undone.

“ _Viktor no_ **_baka_ ** ,” Yuri sobs aloud before making a mad dash across the ice towards him.

All Viktor can do is smile - a watery, impossible expression - and hold his arms out. Yuri is in his embrace seconds later and hits him with such force that he nearly tumbles backwards. His firm footing stops their collapse, and his arms wind around Yuri tightly, holding him close. Yuri pushes his face against Viktor’s shoulder. His frame is shaking with more force than Viktor has ever seen.

It hits him then how hard this has been for Yuri. A week of silence, neglect, and lost love - he can’t even imagine. Still ashamed of himself, he too hides his face.

“ _P_ _rosti menya_ ,” Viktor mumbles into Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri hiccups around a shaky inhale in response. Viktor rubs his hands along Yuri’s back and adds, “I never wanted to hurt you. Never. I’m so sorry.”

“You-” Yuri tries to say around a little sob, “- _really_ need to work on your memory.”

Viktor can’t help but laugh. He nuzzles against Yuri’s shoulder, and a little bit of warmth returns to his heart. “What can I say?” he asks. “Yurio calls me a geezer. Maybe he’s onto something.”

A hand gently pokes him in the side. “You’re four years older than me,” Yuri grumbles, “you don’t get to use that as an excuse.”

“Mm,” Viktor hums in agreement, “then yes, it’s something I need to work on.”

“Talking to me, too,” Yuri adds.

“I love talking to you. I’m happy to do it more,” Viktor affirms, tentatively stroking the hair at the name of Yuri’s neck.

Yuri’s hands clutch Viktor’s clothes like he’s not convinced he’s really, truly right there. He breathes him in, the scent of fresh cologne almost dizzying “I need to get better at it, too,” he confesses, muffled against Viktor’s shoulder. Before Viktor can ask or blame himself, Yuri continues. “Before the banquet, I… wanted to ask about us getting married. What we wanted to do, what we were going to do next.” (Unbeknownst to him, Viktor recollects their conversation and he adds another stone of guilt for not understanding what Yuri had meant.) “I - you didn’t seem interested in the idea at all, and anytime anyone said anything that night...” He trails off, not wanting to remember.

“I didn’t want to take away from your win,” Viktor explains, running his fingers through Yuri’s hair. Yuri finally pulls back from his shoulder to look him in the eye, but they remain holding each other. “That night was about you. It wasn’t about our wedding plans. I didn’t want anyone forgetting that it was _you_ who stood at the top of that podium.” He offers a tiny smile to Yuri. “Isn’t that petty?” he asks.

Yuri offers a tiny smile, his cheeks tinging pink. “Just a bit,” he concedes, but his smile grows warmer by the second, and the warmth in Viktor’s chest has spread throughout his body.

Viktor leans forward and nudges his forehead against Yuri’s in a gentle caress that Yuri happily returns. Their eyes close. Viktor’s thumb drops from the back of Yuri’s neck to the side. He presses gently against his jugular and feels his pulse dancing under his skin. His smile spreads wider when he feels it pick up under his touch. “I missed you,” he says softly, as if the words could break Yuri. “Every day.”

Gazing up at Viktor, Yuri nods in agreement. He licks his lips, hesitation in his gaze, before opening himself up and admitting, “I thought I would never see you again. I thought I - this - was just an act... some kind of game." He winces. "I thought you never--”

Viktor’s fingers dance away from Yuri’s pulse to his cheeks. Both hands cup his face gently. "It's why I chose you, Yuri," Viktor confesses, his tone serious but gentle. "I always have."

He sees his own ring shine in the moonlight and lifts his right hand from Yuri’s cheek so he can see the band on his finger. “As long as I wear this,” Viktor swears, “you’ll know I do. You’ll know I always have. It’s the best gold I’ve ever gotten.”

Yuri looks at his own right hand; Viktor’s gaze joins him. He can see the soft, relieved smile on his fiance’s face from the corner of his eyes. He looks his way and meets his eyes, and not for the first time does Yuri’s heart skip a beat from the way Viktor looks at him.

Soft lips touch his own, and Yuri melts into the affection he’s come to expect but never thought he would go without. He took advantage of it; he never cherished Viktor’s kiss properly. There in the ice rink - appropriate as always for a lesson in life and love - he learns its value.

“Stay close to me,” Yuri mumbles against Viktor’s lips as he captures them in another kiss.

 _Yes,_ Viktor thinks, pulling Yuri closer still. _Always._

-

By the time Takeshi and Minako return to Japan, all seems to be right with the world.

Hiroko is happy to tell them that since Viktor and Yuri have come home late the night before, they haven’t left Viktor’s room. “They’re probably catching up on sleep,” she sighs with a blissful (and ignorant) smile on her face.

Takeshi takes that as his cue to leave immediately. Minako takes it as her cue to grab a bottle and start drinking immediately.

Hiroko isn’t far off the mark. They do, in fact, spend most of their time sleeping on and off, or at least trying to. When they can’t fall asleep, they quietly talk about their wedding plans, what they both want, when they want it, and how they want it to go. They agree on some things and disagree on others. Neither minds terribly. They’re just happy to be sharing the same bed again and are never more than a few inches apart.

They have sex, of course. Three times. So she’s not completely right.

Viktor’s arm snakes around the small of Yuri’s back to pull him nearer. Yuri, still catching his breath from the climax, happily lets himself be maneuvered and he rests his cheek on Viktor’s warm, chest. His eyes close blissfully and he wonders if he’s going to be able to walk again anytime in the future.

“Probably not,” Viktor jokes, and Yuri turns beet red upon realizing he’s asked it out loud. He buries his face in Viktor’s chest and Viktor laughs, tussling his dark hair playfully. “As long as you can walk down the aisle, who cares?”

Peeking out from his hidden space, Yuri blinks through chocolate lashes up at Viktor and sighs against his fiance’s skin. He rests his chin on his sternum and grumbles, “You’re nothing but trouble, you know that?”

“You like it,” Viktor retorts quite happily.

A tiny smile breaks through Yuri’s pout. It’s all the answer Viktor needs. Yuri wrinkles his nose as Viktor leans down and pecks the tip of it.

Readjusting himself, Yuri leans on Viktor’s body and listens to the sound of his heartbeat. He stares to the side at the wall and watches his gold medal gleam from within its glass case on the shelf. He wriggles a hand between the two of them and touches his own bare chest where the medal once sat. A tiny, pensive frown comes to his face.

“You’re distracted,” Viktor mumbles, already succumbing to another round of sleep but well-aware of his partner’s subtle movements.

Licking his kiss-bruised lips, Yuri opens his mouth, hesitates a moment, and asks, “Would you have still wanted to marry me if I hadn’t won gold?”

Viktor opens his eyes and sits up slightly. Yuri rearranges himself to accommodate and looks up at Viktor, uncertainty dancing in his eyes. Viktor’s hand caresses Yuri’s flushed cheek and he watches as the younger man nuzzles his palm and pecks his pulse point affectionately. He can tell Yuri has more to say, so instead of speaking above or for him, he stays quiet and lets him think over his words.

“When I was wearing it, it was a constant reminder of how far I had come,” Yuri explains carefully. “It kept me in the moment and reminded me, ‘yes, you really won gold at the Grand Prix!’. It didn’t feel real when it happened.”

Yuri lifts his right hand up. Without needing to wonder why, Viktor mirrors the move and raises his hand off of Yuri’s back. They hold their hands close and admire their rings together for a moment until Yuri finds the words to continue.

“My ring has done that all along,” he realizes quietly. “I could only hope it would mean the same to you, too. It inspired me to win. To do my best. To make sure you would feel the same and you would stay with me” Yuri drops his hand back on Viktor’s chest, and Viktor holds Yuri against him once more. “Did it ever feel as heavy for you?” Yuri asks with a small, almost worried frown.

A soft, affectionate sigh escapes Viktor, whose smile makes Yuri blush like his touch had done minutes before. “You make it sound like that weight was the worst thing imaginable,” he teases.

“N-no! It was-” Yuri struggles to think of the right word. “Comforting? Warm?”

“I know,” Viktor assures him, brushing back some of his dark fringe from his eyes. “I felt the same way about mine. It was like an anchor - something strong, steady, and reliable -  keeping me close to you.” He leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes. “But, it’s just a symbol,” he says in a sage-like tone that almost annoys Yuri until he follows up on it. “Medals and rings are nice, but I would have married you with or without gold.”

A shy smile crosses Yuri’s face. He worms his way against Viktor’s body and rests his head on his own pillow. Viktor turns and slings an arm over the curve of Yuri’s waist; the weight of it makes Yuri feel safe.

“Thank you,” Yuri utters softly.

“For what?” Viktor mumbles, sleep already threatening to pull him under. “You have nothing to thank me for.”

He can practically feel the warmth in Yuri’s smile. “You came home,” he replies, his tone soft and fragile.

Viktor peers over at his fiance - his thoughtful, talented, forgiving fiance - and plants a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. His arm tightens around Yuri’s body in a gentle squeeze of pure, wordless affection.

“As long as you're here," Viktor all but whispers, "I always will." The last sight he sees is his ring shining in the dark; a promise he will never break again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose to post this a little bit before the new episode both to hammer it in before we see if Yuri actually wins gold, and just in case anyone needs some healing after the episode... God knows I'm going to.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this mini-fic! I'll consider an epilogue if this reaches like 3k or something. Incentive to tell your friends about that one lady who has a serious kink for miscommunication and comfort. Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> My first YOI fanfiction and my first fanfic in months!
> 
> The only reason this fic is broken into chapters is because of chronology and plot points/making all of you suffer and wait. It's hardly more than a really long one-shot.
> 
> I'm hoping that the season finale doesn't completely invalidate Yuri's gold win because then this entire thing is just going to be pointless. But in the meanwhile, enjoy crying! There are tissues by the door. Expect an update sooner than later!


End file.
